


guardians of a rare thing

by robokittens



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a fair position to put Adam in, necessarily, while he's in PJs and presumably with nowhere to go, but Gansey has always believed in the value of being honest. "I was going to kiss you," he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	guardians of a rare thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ouroboros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroboros/gifts).



> thanks x100000 to ouroboros for dragging me gently into this fandom, encouraging my hesitant writing attempts, and then beta'ing the damn thing.
> 
> title, of course, from the moutain goats.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Adam asks, when Gansey opens the door. His eye isn't swollen quite shut, and his nose isn't bleeding anymore.

Gansey keeps his face carefully neutral, doesn't display concern or look any sort of surprised except maybe "pleasantly." He's not sure what emotions would upset Adam's ego — his dignity, he corrects himself — so he just says "Of course," and steps aside to let Adam in.

There is a bit of surprise though, that Adam would come to _him_ , that in just a few months he's cemented himself so firmly in Adam's life. It's a heady feeling. 

Adam's backpack bulges oddly as he adjusts its place on his shoulder. A change of clothes, Gansey guesses, as well as textbooks — tomorrow is Wednesday, and it seems Adam is determined to still go to class.

"I was just getting ready to go to bed," he says, and immediately regrets it. Under the forming bruises, Adam looks … well, he looks _Adam_. A bit embarrassed at what he perceives as an intrusion, a bit angry at himself for needing help, a bit staunchly prideful. Gansey keeps on: "Unless you want to help me write this terrible essay for Contemporary Hist. If it's within the last fifty years I'm useless, I swear."

Adam cracks a smile, finally. "It's not _that_ hard to watch the news, Gansey," he says, like he’s someone who has all the time in the world for current events. Honestly, Gansey doesn't understand how he balances everything: work and school and work and work and dowsing for ley lines and, apparently, watching the news every day. Gansey has a hard enough time remembering to sleep.

Or being able to, even if he remembers; the miniature Henrietta whose streets they walk to get to his desk is proof enough of that. He _had_ been about to get ready for bed, that's true enough, but he hadn't had very high hopes.

Adam drops his bag by the desk. It sounds very final, a serious _thunk_ on the concrete.

"I don't think Ronan's home. You could take his bed," Gansey offers. 

Adam snorts. "As much as I'd love to see his face when he gets home and discovers me in his bed, I'd rather not die immediately after."

"Oh, he's not that bad," Gansey lies. He runs a hand over his own bedspread where it's crumpled at the foot of the bed. "Mine's big enough, I suppose."

"I'll sleep on the floor," Adam says quickly. "I don't want to —"

Gansey waves a hand airily. "It's no imposition. _Especially_ not if you help me with that damn essay. I'll owe you one, and a decent night's sleep hardly counts."

He can see Adam squint at him, wary, and chooses to ignore it. He ambles over to his dresser and pulls out a night shirt — probably Adam would make fun of him for wearing actual pajamas, and besides which it's fairly warm — before excusing himself to go change. He pauses, then, and looks over his shoulder.

"I'm taking out my contacts," he warns. "If I walk into you, it's because I can't see."

Adam always laughs like it's been startled out of him. This time is no exception. "I'll take that into account," he says, magnanimous.

When he comes out of the bathroom, such as it is, face scrubbed and teeth brushed and contacts definitely removed, Adam has changed into his own sleep shirt. Or Gansey thinks he has, at any rate; Adam is fuzzy around the edges (and well into his middle, to be honest), gold and glowing in the weird light of Monmouth.

He looks beautiful, Gansey thinks. Which is a funny thing to think about a friend, and also, he reflects, when you can't see. But it's still, somehow, true.

Gansey picks his way carefully over to the desk. Adam is still standing awkwardly near it, and more importantly, that's where he left his glasses. 

He puts them on. Adam is wearing an oversized grey t-shirt and blue plaid boxers. He looks almost scrawny, his eye starting to bloom blue, legs paler than the rest of him and somehow all knee. He looks, in fact, beautiful. Gansey is a bit taken aback to realize it's still true now that he can see.

So that's a thing, he thinks, politely leaving it vague enough for his conscious mind to ignore.

He doesn't ignore it. Instead, he reaches out and cups Adam's chin in his hand.

Adam wrenches away. "I'm _fine_ ," he spits, and shoves past Gansey toward the kitchen. 

Gansey stares after him, flummoxed, then looks away politely. Oh, he thinks after a moment. Adam must have thought that Gansey was checking him for injury. That's … not what Gansey had been thinking. Not what he'd been doing at all. 

He hears a flush, and the sink burbling awkwardly.

"That's not what I meant," Gansey says when Adam reemerges. "I know I do things without thinking them through sometimes. And that was one of them." Adam rolls his eyes. Gansey puts one hand on the desk, for support.

It's not a fair position to put Adam in, necessarily, while he's in PJs and presumably with nowhere to go, but Gansey has always believed in the value of being honest. "I was going to kiss you," he says.

"Kiss me," Adam repeats dubiously. He walks back toward Gansey, a bit of hesitance to his step.

It's not a request, it's not an order. It's definitely a statement of disbelief. Gansey obeys it anyway, taking those last few steps forward and pressing his lips against Adam's. It's not a very _good_ kiss, although he doesn't have much of anything to compare it to. It would be better, he supposes, if Adam kissed him back.

Adam pulls away. "I need to brush my teeth," he says. He sounds … perplexed, almost, and a little sad. Gansey hands him a mint leaf.

There's an edge of hysteria to Adam's laughter, but it sounds mostly genuine. Gansey is glad for it; it would be awful if one bad kiss had driven Adam to madness. It would be just as bad if the mint leaf had done it. He watches appreciatively as Adam sticks it under his tongue.

Now that he's realized he finds Adam attractive he can't stop _thinking_ about it.

Can't stop looking.

"What," Adam says. Gansey reaches out and puts his fingertips on the high ridge of Adam's cheekbone. He's careful to stay away from the bruising, but when Adam's breath hitches he's not sure what it means. His hand slides down; he cups the back of Adam's skull, Adam's fine hair drifting through his fingers.

"Gansey," Adam says. Gansey can't quite figure out what his tone is, but it doesn't seem to be saying _stop_ or _go away_ , and Adam isn't moving. He leans in again.

Adam meets him halfway, this time. It's still just a press of lips, Adam's chapped and dry, and it's still not very good. This close, he smells like mint, and a little bit like blood.

And then Adam's lips part, just slightly, but it's enough for Gansey to run his tongue along the seam of them. Adam makes a soft sound into Gansey's mouth, and Gansey's hand tightens its grip on the back of his head, and then, Gansey thinks, they're kissing for real.

"Would it be untoward of me to suggest we take this to bed?" he asks, pulling just far enough away to form words. He's still close enough to feel Adam mouth something silently, probably _untoward_.

"Not at all," Adam says, his voice a little rough around the edges. He takes a step back. Gansey's hand falls from his neck. He reaches over and turns off the little desk lamp; there's still light filtering through the glass panes, but for a moment it's like they've plunged into darkness.

There had been enough time, though, for Gansey to see the conflict that flickered across Adam's face.

"I'm not …" Adam breathes out slowly. "This isn't. I want to do this, too."

Gansey raises an eyebrow. "Good," he says. "I would — if you didn't, I would never —" He keeps his voice even, but his mind is a steady chant of _he wants this, he wants me, he wants this_. It's equal parts reassuring and terrifying.

"It's not just your idea, Gansey." Adam's tone is harsh, Gansey's name an accusation. "You're not the only one who wants things, you know."

"I know," Gansey says simply. He's not sure he does; it's obvious that Adam is talking about much more than just a kiss, but … He finds Adam's hand in the darkness, tangles their fingers together. The backs of their hands knock against each other, discordant for a moment before they come to rest together.

"I want … things, too," he says, stumbling over his words just slightly. The raise of Adam's eyebrow suggests all manner of things, and Gansey flushes. Adam's lips quirk, a hint of a smile. His fingers squeeze Gansey's for just a moment before releasing them, and he takes a step backward. Toward the bed.

"Untoward," Adam repeats, aloud this time. He draws it out, his accent rounding out the vowels. Gansey can't quite see the shape of his lips as he forms the word. He wishes he could see it, could feel it.

Adam takes another step back, another, and Gansey can see the shape of him hitting the bed.

Gansey takes off his glasses, folds them gently and puts them on the desk. He moves toward the bed, careful not to knock over the bits of Henrietta that are starting to grow this far into the room.

"Maybe nothing too untoward tonight," he says, and Adam laughs breathily. He pulls Gansey closer and kisses him again, open mouth to open mouth, and then lets go.

They lay down, and Adam curls up the moment he hits the bed; Gansey isn't sure if it's defensive or habit, but he wraps himself around Adam anyway, his hand splayed over Adam's heart. He presses a kiss to Adam's cheekbone, and if it's close to where he's bruising, well. Gansey can always say he's forgotten in the dark.


End file.
